


A werewolf, a vampire, a ghost and a god have to save the world

by Lakritzwolf



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Crossover - Moana (Disney), Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: Written for the WinterFRE by gatheringFiKi.Prompt 38: A has been chosen to save hometown/city/island/mountain/country and B is a god/demigod who has to be unwilling participant/sidekick in the quest, kind of like a Moana-AUSo this is the Britchell  - Moana crossover where Mitchell has to save the world fromcoconut piratesvampires, Anders is the half-god recruited to help him, Annie is the spectral mother figure and George... George is definitelynota chicken.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chelidona (Hobbity)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbity/gifts), [islandkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandkate/gifts), [Khim_Azaghal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khim_Azaghal/gifts).



Mitchell had planned to never lay his eyes on another vampire again. He didn’t even need to include himself as he had no mirror image and thus, never run into danger of looking at himself. 

What Annie told him now, however, made his stomach turn. 

“They are growing in number,” she said. “Herrick is recruiting more and more, and sends recruiters out himself. You have to stop them!”  
“Why me?” Mitchell dragged his fingers through his hair. “Why me?”  
“Because you are the only one,” Annie said and stepped closer. “The only one ever to turn away from blood. If there is anyone in this world who can find the cure, then it’s you.”  
“The cure?”  
“Yes.” Annie gave the impression of taking a deep breath. “The messages I receive are... not clear. I try to find out what I can. At this point I only know that it’s on the other side of the world.”

“That’s going to be of much help,” George said. “Can’t you, you know... narrow it down a bit?”  
“Twin Islands,” Annie said. “That’s all I can say now.”  
“Twin...” George adjusted his glasses, then his eyes widened. “New Zealand?”

“Sounds about right,” Mitchell said. “Twin islands on the other side of the world.”  
“New Zealand?” George’s voice hitched into almost a squeak. “Fucking New Zealand?”  
“Shh,” Mitchell said. “It’s okay. No reason to freak out.”  
“Fucking New-”  
“George,” Mitchell said slowly. “No one forces you to come along.”  
“As if I let you go alone!” George crossed his arms. “So stop looking at me as if I were a chicken!”

Mitchell looked at Annie again. “So there’s really no other way to stop the vampires than trying to find this... what was his name?”  
“Bragi,” she told him. “God of Poetry. He is the only who could talk the Keeper into giving up the Blood Stone.”  
“Bragi.” Mitchell stared straight ahead. “And how am I supposed to find one man in New Zealand?”  
“I will do what I can,” Annie said and vanished.

“Well,” George said. “We better get packing then.”

* * *

This time, the information Annie had brought was a bit more precise. In the north of the twin islands, find the city built on volcanoes.

“Auckland is full of volcanoes,” George said, peering at the map. “Lucky for everyone involved, they’re all extinct.”  
“And the population?” Mitchell asked, a hint of despair in his voice.  
“Let’s see,” George replied and took his phone. “One million five hundred thirty four thousand seven hundred,” he said after a moment.  
“Roughly one and a half million people,” Mitchell said. “Fuck.”  
“It’s still better than the whole of New Zealand.”

The two exchanged a long look and shrugged.

* * *

Annie appeared in their hotel room three days later. As usual, George almost jumped out of his skin with a squeak; his nerves were on edge all the time because he had yet to find a safe place to change with the next full moon looming ahead. 

“I found him,” Annie said. “It wasn’t easy, but I found him.”  
“Bragi?” Mitchell jumped up. “Where?”

Annie sighed and crossed her arms. “At this point he is probably still in the bar I watched him enter,” Annie said.  
“And by the time we will be there?”  
“He will... still be there,” Annie replied, her lips curled into clear displeasure.  
“So?”  
“Let’s just say he is... engaged in.... complicated negotiations with the owner of the bar.”

George couldn’t have looked any more confused, Mitchell didn’t look much better.

Annie rolled her eyes. “Thick as two short planks, both of you,” she snapped and vanished. 

George and Mitchell exchanged a look, and then both suddenly saw daylight, George with a groan and Mitchell with a deep, heavy sigh.

* * *

No one in Auckland that night spared any thought for a dove that seemed to be nocturnal, nor the two men following her. It was a good bit of a walk to that bar Annie had spoken of, and it definitely wasn’t an establishment either of them would have frequented on their own; they both preferred down to earth pubs where you could get a good pint. As advised, Mitchell had left his gloves and wore a black dress shirt instead of a Metallica T-shirt over a lime green sweater, good advice as it turned out.

It was when Mitchell was about to ask for the whereabouts of the man they were after that they realised a major problem.

They had no idea what his name was. 

George and Mitchell exchanged a helpless look. 

“Okay,” Mitchell whispered. “I find the loo and see if I can get in touch with Annie.”  
“Be careful.” George adjusted his glasses. “And hurry up, the only thing I can afford here is a G&T and I hate that stuff.”

Mitchell brushed his curls back and headed towards the toilets. He had just closed the door to the taproom when he heard an unmistakable sound, even without vampire hearing. Then he remembered Annie’s facial expression and her words of ‘important negotiations’.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

So Mitchell leaned against the wall and waited.

And waited.

And waited a little more. 

Jesus, that guy had _stamina._

Mitchell was half asleep on his feet when the door flew open, and he jerked upright to see a woman rush past, giggling, flushed and her green dress not quite in place. She was followed shortly after by a man, reddish hair and beard, blue eyes, expensive suit, and every inch a dandy and womanizer. 

He looked Mitchell up and down. 

“Sorry mate, were you waiting your turn?” He smirked. “Don’t get me wrong, sharing is caring and all that, but in this case-”  
“Bragi?” Mitchell cut in. 

Blue eyes narrowed and the man – doubtlessly Bragi to judge by his reaction – slowly tilted his head. “The fuck are you talking about?”  
“I am looking for Bragi.”

The man – Bragi – crossed his arms and shook his head. “This is a bar,” he said, his voice suddenly as smooth as silk and low and flowing into Mitchell’s ear like nectar. “You’re here for a drink, not for heavy conversation with someone who doesn’t exist. Maybe you’ve had enough already? I’m sure you had enough already. Go home and have a nap.”

Whatever that kind of magic was, it didn’t work. Mitchell crossed his arms. “Are you Bragi or not?”

Mitchell’s last words caused an unforeseen reaction. Bragi’s eyes widened almost comically, and he took a small step back. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He breathed.  
“Someone who needs your help.”  
“Go fuck yourself,” Bragi said and tried to push past him. 

The door to the bar opened and George entered the narrow hallway. 

“Mitchell, what are you doing here? You’ve been gone for ages!”

He looked at Mitchell, then at the red-haired man.

“Is that him?”  
“Who?” Bragi asked. “Who are you freaks?” He looked back and forth between Mitchell and George.

Slowly, Mitchell leaned into Bragi’s personal space. “We need your help.”  
“And why the fuck should I help you, Mr Bad Hair Day?”  
Mitchell snorted. “If you think I have a hair problem, then you should see my friend George here under the full moon.”

Bragi’s face went pale and he took a step back. 

“We need your help.” Mitchell leaned back again. “I’ve been told that only you can talk the Keeper into giving up the Blood Stone and-”  
“Woah. Hold. Stop.” Bragi took a step back. “Whatever it is you smoked, I want some of it.”

Mitchell sighed. “Look, if you just let me explain. My friend Annie told me-”  
“Is she hot?”  
“Mitchell, seriously, what is wrong with this guy?”  
“It’s a valid question!”  
“She is dead,” Mitchell said flatly.

Bragi cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, anyway.” Mitchell sighed. “She told me that we need a certain stone, which is kept here in the south of New Zealand somewhere, and that someone called Bragi is the only person who can help us.”  
“She told you that. Before she died a horrible death?”  
“Actually, after.” Mitchell crossed his arms. 

Bragi leaned against the wall and dragged both hands down his face. 

“Mitchell?”

George jumped out of his skin with a squeak and Bragi did the same, minus the squeak. He stared at Annie who had materialised before him as if he had seen a ghost. Which was exactly what he was seeing, of course.

“I see you found him,” Annie said.

Bragi stared at her and adjusted his tie. “So you’re a... a... a ghost?”  
“Or you could call me biologically challenged,” Annie said drily and rolled her eyes. “And I keep hanging around my friends because they need help.”  
“From the other side,” Bragi said hesitantly.  
“It comes in handy,” Annie replied.

Bragi took a deep breath and exhaled long and slow.

“So,” he said then. “If you are a ghost, and our bespectacled friend is a werewolf, then what is he?” He pointed at Mitchell. 

“You don’t want to know,” George said cautiously.

Bragi looked at Mitchell. 

“I’m a vampire.”  
“I’m out of here.”

Bragi tried to push past him, but Mitchell held on to his arm. He froze and stared at Mitchell from the corner of his eyes. 

“I’m pretty sure I don’t taste very nice,” he said in a slightly unsteady voice.  
“Believe me,” Mitchell said. “If I were here for feeding, you’d be dead.”  
“And since I’m not?”  
“As I said, we need your help.  
“In saving the world?”  
“Pretty much.”

“Fucking fuck.” Bragi dragged both hands down his face.  
“Will you help us?”  
Bragi groaned into his palms.  
“Bragi?”

“Anders Johnson,” Bragi now said and dropped his hands. “Anders fucking Johnson, owner and founder of JohnsonPR, vessel of the Norse god Bragi.” He shook his head. “And here I am, standing in a bar with a werewolf, a vampire and a ghost. It’s so ridiculous it’s beyond funny.”

Said werewolf, vampire and ghost looked at the vessel of the Norse god in anticipation.

“And you need me to save the world.”  
“From vampires.”  
Anders blinked, once, very slowly. “But you are a vampire?”  
“I am. But I don’t want to see the world as we know it destroyed, with vampires the rulers of humankind.”

“I’m not human though,” Anders said and licked his lips.  
“What has that to do with anything?”  
“That I’m not human? I have the power of poetry, which bends people to my will.”  
“And that worked out extremely well earlier, didn’t it?”

Anders stroked a hand down his chin. “Fuck. 

“So what we’re after,” Annie said after a moment. “Is a magic stone that can be turned into a cure for vampirism.”  
“A noble cause,” Anders said cautiously.  
“A cause that will keep everyone alive,” Mitchell said sharply. “And this stone is being kept hidden, and from sources that only Annie can access, she knows that only you can get us the stone.”

Anders looked at Mitchell, at George who adjusted his glasses, and at Annie who still had her arms crossed. 

Then he looked back at Mitchell. “You really a vampire?”

Mitchell’s eyes flashed black and he displayed his fangs with a hiss. Anders fell against the wall, his face white, and forced out a watery smile. 

“You could make a fortune in a haunted house with that number,” he said, trying to grin. 

Mitchell’s eyes turned back to brown and he shook his head. “This is what awaits every human being on this planet if we don’t stop the vampires from spreading their curse.”  
“And Anders fucking Johnson is the key to the cure.”  
“Exactly.”

“Oh for fucking fuck’s sake,” Anders muttered. “I don’t believe this.”  
“You better,” Annie said. “The fate of all humans lies in our hands now.”  
“Great,” Anders said brightly. “As long as there’s no pressure involved!”

“But you will help us, right?” George asked anxiously.  
“It’s not as if I seem to have much choice, do I?” Anders snapped back.  
“Not really, no,” Annie replied.  
“Right.” Anders dragged his hands down his face. “Fuck. Let’s get this over with.”

“Where do we start?” George asked Annie as they headed towards the door back into the taproom.  
“South,” Annie said. “Just further south. I let you know as soon as I find something.”

With that, she vanished. Anders cleared his throat and adjusted his tie with a twitch of his head.

On his way to the door, Mitchell clapped Anders’ shoulders. “Thank you.”

Anders looked up at him with a wry smile. “You’re welcome.”


	2. Chapter 2

No further news had come forth by the time they left the airport.

“We’re in fucking Wellington!” Anders buried his hands in his hair. “How much further south can we go?”  
George looked at the screen of his phone. “We have a whole other island to cover,” he said slowly. “So I guess...”  
Anders emitted a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a growl. 

They crossed the Cook Strait with the ferry from Wellington to Picton, and made their way to Blenheim, the next larger city where Anders hoped for decent accommodation. It wasn’t before they got settled in their hotel room that Annie re-appeared, but she had no other news yet, other than they would still have to go further south. 

They spend that night in a pub. Not an establishment Anders would willingly frequent, but he wanted a drink, and there was nothing else.

Relaxed for the first time in days, at least temporarily, their conversation turned to lighter topics. Namely, some of Anders’ clients and their ridiculous ideas. Some of them had all three in stitches. 

At one point Mitchell and Anders happened to look at each other, over the rim of their pint glasses. Their eyes met. After a second or two, Anders winked. Mitchell hastily gulped down his beer, then immediately got up to get another round. He ignored Anders’ smirk when he sat back down.

* * *

Annie met them again as they were about to leave Blenheim in a rental car, one that Anders initially had refused to take. There wasn’t any other available however, and they squeezed themselves and their luggage into the tiny rustbucket with much swearing and cursing. 

“I have news,” Annie said, after she had stuck her head inside the car. “You need to go further south.”  
“No shit, Sherlock,” Anders muttered.  
“Far south,” Annie went on after giving him a frown. “There’s a peninsula shaped like a tear, and at the centre, between twin lakes, you find the entrance.”

“Twin lakes?” George took out his phone. “First twin islands, and then twin lakes?”

He silently scrolled around on Google Maps for a while. 

“I think I found it,” he said then. “It’s at the very south end of the south Island. There is a peninsula that... could be a tear, yes. And in the middle are two small lakes.”

Anders took the phone and looked at it, frowned, and zoomed out a bit. “Fuck. Down the whole fucking island.”  
“Well,” Mitchell said after a moment and tried to adjust his position. “I guess there’s nothing for it.”

“Right,” Anders said as well and started the engine. “Let’s get this bloody car to Invercargill.”

* * *

The chicken puzzled Anders to no end, and he kept well away from it, a disgusted frown on his face. He grew even more disgusted when he was told what it was for, but saw the reasoning behind it.

“I am not running through the forest dragging a chicken behind me though,” he said. “I’ll be back at the motel.”  
“Whatever.” George was on edge, as full moon was tonight.   
“And you have to deal with this every month?”  
George looked at him as he took off his glasses and handed them to Mitchell. “Every fucking month, for the rest of my fucking life.”

Anders pressed his lips together, then clapped George’s shoulder and turned away. He and Mitchell headed back to the motel, a close to shabby thing without a bar and furniture scrounged form several decades. They had bought a few beers at a petrol station earlier, and Mitchell and Anders sat down now to share a drink. 

“Is there a cure for werewolf-ism?” Anders asked halfway through the first bottle.   
“None that we know of,” Mitchell said. “I’m sure though that if Annie comes across one, she will let us know.”  
Anders nodded thoughtfully. “I guess that makes long-term relationships a bit difficult.”  
“His current girlfriend is one too.”  
“Oh well. Could be worse then.”

Anders took a sip of beer, and Mitchell, who was sitting on the bed, let himself fall backwards after putting the bottle on the nightstand. He and George were sharing a room and Anders had another, but there was no lounge. 

At one point Mitchell looked up to find Anders looking at him. A smirk appeared on Anders’ face when Mitchell sat up again. 

“What is that look?” Mitchell asked distrustfully.  
“I was admiring the view,” Anders replied with a smirk. 

Mitchell mustered him for a moment, his eyebrows drawing together. Anders leaned back into his chair and crossed his legs. 

“No offence, okay?” Anders also crossed his arms. “It is a nice view.”  
“Are you hitting on me?” Mitchell’s facial expression darkened.  
Anders shrugged. “Depends.”  
“On what?”  
“On you not killing me if I say yes.”

Mitchell stared for a moment, then dropped his head with a mirthless chuckle. “And what of your woman in Auckland? She didn’t seem like a random quickie.”  
“Oh, Helen.” Anders shrugged again. “Technically, she is not my woman.”

Mitchell narrowed his eyes again. 

Anders hurriedly supplied an explanation about gods and vessels and how the whole Norse gods debacle had come to be.

“So you see, she is the vessel of Idun, who is Bragi’s godly wife,” he ended. “So, she’s more like Bragi’s woman. I mean don’t get me wrong, I like fucking her, as does she, but I’d really prefer to have a choice about whom I fuck.”  
“What?” Mitchell’s eyebrows lowered again. “What do you mean, choice?”  
“I don’t have one.” Anders picked up his beer. “Bragi wants his Idun. And they don’t give a shit about their vessels. It’s a good thing Helen is easy on the eyes, because even if she wasn’t, even if she was an eighty year old whore...” Anders took a sip of beer. “Bragi wants her, I find her irresistible, and I fuck her.”

“Fuck,” Mitchell breathed after a moment.

Anders saluted him with his bottle and knocked it back. 

“So...” Mitchell began. “She’s not... a long-term commitment?”  
“She’s my fucking god-wife,” Anders said sharply. “And fuck knows I am not a guy for long-term relationships, and she sure as fuck could do without a man she is forced to adore and play housewife with, and here we fucking are.”

Mitchell slowly shook his head. “And I thought I was fucked when it comes to sex.”  
“Come again?” Anders licked his lips and put the bottle down.  
Mitchell’s eyes turned dark. “For a vampire, sex and blood are inextricably linked. So basically, when I fuck someone, chances are I kill them.”

Anders very slowly leaned back and crossed his arms. “Riiiight.”  
“Yeah, so.” Mitchell shrugged. “I try to avoid casual sex.”  
“Point taken.” Anders cleared his throat.  
Mitchell nodded.   
“Nice booty though.”  
Mitchell rolled his eyes.  
“Sorry, I’ll stop. You probably don’t want those compliments from a guy anyway.”  
Now Mitchell chuckled. “That’s honestly not the issue.” He looked up again. “I can only return that compliment.”  
Anders grinned. “So you’re like me then? In terms of take pleasure where it presents itself?”  
“Not quite. I don’t like killing a sex partner no matter the gender.”  
“Right.” Anders cleared his throat again. 

A dog barked in the distance.

“Is this... going to cause awkward sexual tension now?”

Mitchell shook his head and dragged both hands down his face.

“Just asking!”  
“Anders...”  
“Because you seriously-”  
“Anders.”   
“But I just-”

“Anders!” Mitchell looked up and his eyes flashed black for a moment. “Stop hitting on me if you want to keep all your blood inside you where it belongs,” he hissed.

Anders swallowed and slowly, got up. “Right. Okay. I guess I... I better turn in then. Long day tomorrow.”  
“Good idea.” Mitchell’s eyes returned to brown.

Anders was out of the door in a second. The door slammed shut, then the door to Anders’ room slammed shut as well. 

Mitchell fell back onto the bed with a deep, heavy and heartfelt groan.

* * *

After staying the night in Invercargill they continued their road south towards Bluff, a town on the northern coast of peninsula. But shortly before they reached the town they passed a gravel road leading up to a gate. It was a brand new road, the gravel still white, and the gate was part of a tall, wrought-iron fence, one of the fancy ones that could have surrounded a Victorian villa. 

Anders pulled over and looked at the sign. 

_Tamatoa_ Estate

And according to the GPS, this was exactly the direction they had to take.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders killed the engine and the three of them got out. After looking around, and at the gate, they exchanged a few helpless looks, then Anders rolled his shoulders and walked up to the gate. He cleared his throat and pressed the large button for the intercom while smiling into the camera.

_“Yes.”_  
“Hello this is-”  
_“Anders you fucktard, what the fuck are you doing here?”_  
Anders shot upright and adjusted his tie. “I beg your pardon?”  
_“Get out of here before I sick the dogs on you.”_

He looked helplessly over his shoulders at the others who could only shrug, and turned to the intercom again.

“Sorry, with whom do I have the pleasure-”  
_“Fuck off, you wanker.”_  
Anders narrowed his eyes. “Michele?”  
_“What the fuck do you want?”_

After clearing his throat again, Anders adjusted his tie, with a twitch of his head this time, and took a deep breath.

“Michele, I know you have reason to hate on me-”  
_“Damn right I do! And I-”_  
“And you know how much I hate humiliation, right? But I need your help.”  
Silence.  
“Please.”

_“What do you want,” the intercom asked after a moment._  
“Help. Please, can we discuss this over a drink or so? And not an intercom?”

After another moment, the intercom gave an angry sigh. “Fine.”  
“Thank you babe.”  
_“Call me that again and you’ll carry your nutsack around your neck when you leave.”_  
“Charming as ever.” Anders straightened up with a grin and winked into the camera.

Moments later, the gate began to open. Anders headed back to the car, all three of them got in, and they slowly passed the gate and drove up the gravel path towards a villa that would have made every Confederate plantation owner turn green with envy.

Anders parked the ugly little car, somewhat provocatively, between a Bentley and a Porsche.

When they headed up the stairs towards the main entrance one of the double doors opened and a woman in a long, figure-hugging dress appeared in the doorway.

“Michele!” Anders hurried to meet her and held out his hand. When the woman called Michele offered him her hand with a simultaneously distrustful and puzzled frown, Anders gallantly too that hand and breathed a kiss onto her knuckles. “Stunning as ever.”

“Cut the crap, Anders.” Michelle drew her hand back. “What the fuck is it you want?”  
“Could we maybe come in and sit down somewhere? That rental car is tiny and my legs are cramped, and I haven’t had a decent drink in days.”  
“Oh boo hoo,” Michele replied, but stepped aside.

It was when she closed the door behind them that a man came walking nonchalantly down the stairs, wearing black jeans and a silk shirt with the top two buttons undone to reveal a bit of chest hair.

Anders’ eyes almost popped out of his head. “Mikkel?”  
“Anders.” Mikkel didn’t smile. “What the fuck do you want?”  
Anders shook his head with a heavy huff of breath. “What...?” He gestured helplessly at the surrounding splendour.

“Oh, Mike finally embraced his destiny,” Michele said in a smoky voice and with a smug smile. “And put it to good use.”  
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Anders dragged a hand down his face.

“Enough pleasantries for now,” Michele said then. “Why are you here, Anders?”

Anders attempted to smile at her, and took a deep breath. “Can we sit down somewhere, please?”

* * *

Michele had first stopped laughing when Mitchell had unquestionably proven the existence of vampires to her, and had finally listened to what they actually had to say.

Then she lounged back into her armchair and crossed her legs.

“Anders,” she said slowly and delicately took a sip of her drink. “You fucked me over in six different ways on several occasions. So tell me, why the fuck should I give you anything?”  
“We need the stone,” Mitchell said sharply. “And we-”  
“Yes, you mentioned it.” Michelle shook her head. “And what’s in it for me?”  
“Not being killed by vampires?”

Michele shook her head again.

A heavy silence hung in the room.

Finally, George leaned forward and adjusted his glasses. “Can we offer anything in return?”  
“Anders could do a strip dance,” Michelle said with a smirk.  
“Fuck you and the fucking horse you rode in on!” Anders glared at her and crossed his arms.

The silence grew.

“Look,” Mitchell said eventually, his voice too calm to be natural. “There are so many lives at stake here. And I hate to say this but...”

Mitchell moved so fast it was almost a blur. Before anyone could react he was looming over Michele who crawled back into her chair with a squeal. Mitchell hissed at her, eyes black and fangs out, and leaned so close that Michele started to whimper.

“It’s one life against billions of lives,” he growled. “And do not think that one more life on my conscience will make a fucking difference.”

“Fine,” Michelle said in a trembling voice. “Fine! You get that bloody stone!”  
“Finally.” Mitchell’s eyes went back to normal and he straightened up.

Michelle needed a moment to get her shit back together, and when she got up, she clearly had wobbly legs. Mikkel was at her side in a moment and grabbed her arm; he had watched the scene petrified with fear.

“But...” Michelle began hesitantly. “I don’t even know what you’re looking for.”  
“A stone,” Mitchell said. “We know you have it.”  
“And what kind of stone?” Michelle asked. “How does it look like? How big is it? What colour?”

Mitchell was at a loss.

“It’s red,” came a voice from behind them, and all five of them jumped.

Annie looked around and sighed.

“A red stone,” she said. “It’s about the size of a plum. It glows when someone touches it.”  
“And when a vampire touches it?” Anders asked.  
“Then he won’t be a vampire anymore.”

Mitchell took a slow step towards her. “Is that true?” he asked in a trembling, husky voice.  
“It is,” Annie said softly. “But I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know if it will make you human, or just kill you.”  
“Well if it would just kill them, then it wouldn’t be a cure, would it?” Anders asked sharply.

“He has a point,” George said and looked around at the others.

“There is only one way to find out,” Mitchell said hoarsely.

Anders exhaled in a long huff of breath. “Then let’s find that bloody stone.”

* * *

Michelle’s jewellery was an extensive collection, as it turned out. Mikkel had apparently pulled out all the stops.

“Who bought this shit?” Anders asked, dropping a necklace with a large ruby pendant.  
“Mike, mostly,” Michelle replied. “But not all of it.”

“Okay.” Anders turned to Mike. “Think of a red stone the size of a plum and make yourself fucking useful for once.”

Mike narrowed his eyes and mouthed Fuck You into Anders’ direction, but then he closed his eyes.

Moments later, he headed for another chest of drawers and pulled out the first drawer with vigour. In it was a small wooden box with intricate carvings inlaid with mother of pearl.

“I bought this at an auction,” he said. “As kind of a grab bag, because supposedly this is a jewellery chest, but no one was ever able to open it.”  
“But this is what triggered you.”

Mike nodded and turned the box around a few times.

Anders took it and examined it. He was left none the wiser when he handed the box to Mitchell who grabbed it and shook it. Something heavy rattled inside. But there was no lock, no lid, and no hinge, no hint whatsoever as to how to open that thing.

Michelle was next, but she could only shrug.

Now George took it. He frowned at it. He tapped it with his forefinger, his nail clicking on the wood.

“It’s like a Chinese puzzle box,” he said eventually. “I got one for my birthday once... but I never figured it out. It looked kind of like this, though.” He traced one of the inlaid lines of mother of pearl. “They... sort of give in. But...” He looked at the lines. There were several, in different lengths and different shapes.  
“You have to press or trace them in a certain order, right?” Anders took the box from him.  
“I guess so.”

Anders held out the box to Mike. “Bet you can’t open this.”

Mike blinked a few times, then he took the box with an half-annoyed, half-amused huff. His fingers stared tracing the designs.

Moments later, the box opened with a click.

Everyone craned their necks. Bedded in the box was a large, blood-red stone. It wasn’t a solid red though, it was swirling in several shades of red, and the pattern seemed to be changing, as if blood was flowing around inside.

Six pairs of eyes stared at the red stone while the room was filled with heavy silence.

“So this is supposed to be a cure for vampirism,” George breathed.

Anders looked up at Annie. “Is it safe to touch for a human?”  
“As far as I know,” Annie replied. “Someone has put it into the box, after all.”  
“They could have worn gloves,” Michelle said cautiously.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Mitchell said, took a deep breath and reached out. He pressed his lips together and touched the stone.

Nothing happened.

“Mitchell?” George asked in a trembling voice.  
Mitchell shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Is he still a vampire?” Anders asked.  
“If not, then this was pretty anticlimactic,” Michelle said drily.  
“But how can we check?” Anders looked back and forth between her and Mitchell.  
“A mirror!” George squeaked and spun around. “You must have a mirror?”  
“Keep your pants on!” Michelle opened another drawer and handed him a make-up mirror.

With shaky hands, George held out the mirror to Mitchell who had his eyes closed and tried to calm his breathing. Beside him Anders inhaled sharply and Mitchell hesitantly opened his eyes.

For a second he looked at the man in the mirror, the pale face, the dark, unruly curls, the brown eyes widening as realisation dawned on him. He started to shake, and burst into tears.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got a bit silly towards the end because I felt like it.

A blanket around his shoulders and a cup of tea clutched in his hand Mitchell was sitting on a sofa in the lounge, Annie next to him with both arms around him. Mitchell had stopped crying eventually but now he was totally catatonic, and if it hadn’t been for his eyes still blinking you could have thought him a statue. 

The others were sitting around him on other sofas, and they were all watching him. 

“So,” Anders said after a moment. “The stone is obviously a cure for vampirism.”  
“It almost seem too easy,” Mike said thoughtfully.  
“That’s because it is,” Anders replied and took a sip of his drink. “If you have to touch it, how are we going to get hundreds of vampires to do that? We can’t run around nudging vampires with it in the back.”

The silence became heavy and worried. 

“We have to find a way.” 

It was the first thing Mitchell had said since his last words right before touching the stone. 

“We simply have to.”  
“I know we have to,” Anders said calmly. “We’re working on it.”  
Then Anders looked at Annie, but she could only shrug and shake her head. “I have been trying to find something, but there’s nothing.”  
“Damn.” Anders took a sip of his drink. “Any other ideas?”

No one had any idea. A soft sniffle disturbed the silence, and they all looked at Mitchell again who was wiping tears off his face. Annie closed her arms around him again, and George took off his glasses, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and put his glasses back on. 

Mitchell was clearly still overwhelmed. 

“Mitchell,” Anders asked cautiously. “How long have you been a vamp?”  
Mitchell slowly lifted his head. “Better part of eight decades.”  
“Shit.” Anders fell back. “Must feel... pretty good to be finally rid of that.”  
“I can’t say right now how it feels,” Mitchell said. “Right now it’s relief.” He wiped his face again. “The thought of no more blood... ever...”

He was in tears again and Annie pressed her cheeks into his hair. 

“That still leaves us with the problem of how to get other vamps to touch the stone,” Anders said after tearing his eyes off Mitchell’s tear-stained face. 

Finally, Mike heaved a heavy sigh. “I know someone who... might be able to help us.”  
Anders slowly looked up at him. “If you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about then it’s pretty farfetched to think he can.”  
“Do we have a choice?”  
“Don’t know.”  
“Do we have anything to lose?” Mike lifted his eyebrows.  
“Not as such,” Anders replied and sighed. “Then let’s go, Mr God Of The Hunt.”

* * *

Michelle had graciously given them a couple of days at her estate, primarily for Mitchell’s sake so he could put himself together again, for a given value of. He seemed fragile, somehow, and he talked in a very low voice. 

Since they had to get the car back to Blenheim they made the journey back north in the old rustbucket, but there was little conversation during all that time. Michelle had sent them on their way, and now they followed the direction Mike, who had also squeezed himself into the backseat, was giving them.

Again, they took the ferry, and once in Wellington, they took the plane back to Auckland. It took Mike little effort to locate their oracles both at a beach in an old-fashioned caravan. 

It took them about as long to wait until the two were sober enough again for a somewhat normal conversation. 

You would think that two oracles instead of one could come to a meaningful conclusion that much faster. Nothing could be further from the truth, since it concerned Ingrid and Olaf. 

“Can you smoke it?” Olaf asked as he held the stone between two fingers, holding it up against the sun while squinting at the swirling pattern.  
“Olaf...” Anders covered his eyes with one hand. 

“Too bad you can’t make it rain,” Ingrid said dreamily. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”  
“You mean boil a tea out of it and use a water cannon?”  
Ingrid smiled happily. “That is an awesome idea!”

Anders buried his face in his hands with a groan and Mike rolled his eyes. 

George, Annie and Mitchell seemed unconvinced that the two could actually help them and George said as much.

“But we are trying to help!” Ingrid sounded genuinely hurt.  
“We know,” Anders said. “But so far the solutions you came up with are not... exactly... practical?”  
Ingrid gave him a hurt look and a pout.

“No, I mean, seriously,” Olaf said again, still squinting at the stone. “Can you smoke it?”  
“Olaf, you’re not helping.”

Olaf lowered his hand and smiled benevolently. 

“Because if you can, then you could put it-”  
“Olaf,” Anders said again.  
“Into a smoker and-”  
“Olaf.”  
“I mean a beekeeper smoker.” Olaf made a pumping motion with his hand. “Smoke them out like bees.”

The waves lapped at the shore and a seagull howled in mocking laughter.

“So, we put it in a smoker and face the vampires like a showdown at high noon with smokers in each hand and see who draws faster?”  
“Why not?” Olaf grinned. “Do you have a better idea?”  
“We came to you because you’re the fucking oracle and we expected help from you!”  
“There you go.” Olaf still smiled and handed Anders the stone back. 

“But we can’t just take the stone and burn it!” Mitchell buried his fingers in his hair. “We only have that one! What happens when it’s gone?”

Olaf held out his hand, and Anders gave him the stone again. 

“Hmm.” Olaf turned it around in his hand. “It’s made of blood, isn’t it?”  
“How the fuck am I supposed to know that?”

Everyone looked at Annie.

“It’s called the Blood Stone,” Annie said. “And it kind of looks... alive. It could be blood.”

Olaf rested the stone in one palm. “What if... if it’s a living thing...”

He put his thumb to it and scratched it, and lifting his hand, he had some red crumbs sticking to his finger.

“OLAF!” Anders tore the stone out of his hands again to look at it. 

There wasn’t a scratch or mark on it, the surface perfect as ever.

“See.” Olaf smiled broadly and sniffed his thumb. “It won’t ever be gone.”

Everyone looked at the stone again, and especially Mitchell’s eyes were bright with sudden hope. No one noticed Olaf slipping out a large spliff from a pocket. 

“Olaf!” Anders tried to swat it from Olaf’s hand when he realised that the latter had crumbled the red substance into the tobacco. “DON’T!”

Olaf had lit the spliff before Anders could react, and drew a deep breath. 

His eyes widened, his pupils shrunk to the size of pinpricks. He fell over like a sack. 

“Olaf?” Mike and Anders were instantly at his side. 

“I see it,” Olaf whispered. “The answer...”  
“Answer to what?” Anders asked cautiously.  
“The universe,” Olaf replied, his voice grave. “The stars, the light, the darkness...” He took a deep breath. “The answers...”

“Olaf?”

Olaf was silent for a moment and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he smiled. He dug his fingers into the sand under him.

“It’s breathing.”  
Anders exchanged a puzzled look with Mike. “The universe?”  
“No, the sand,” Olaf replied with a dreamy smile. “It’s breathing.”

Several worried glances were exchanged while Olaf looked dreamily into the stars.

“Okay,” Anders said and shook his head. “It doesn’t seem to be lethal.”

Olaf smiled dreamily up into the stars. Then he turned his head to look towards the dunes. “Hello Mr Flower!”

“That leaves the question,” George said cautiously, “what solution is there that does not involce bee smokers?”  
Anders looked at the stone and up again. “Leaf blowers? Weed spray guns? Flamethrowers?”  
“We can’t possibly rid the world of vampires like that,” Annie said.  
“But we can start with the madman Herrick in Bristol and destroy his plans,” George gave back. “Somehow. We can get at least a few persons to touch the stone before we’re found out.”  
“And then we can equip an army of Van Helsings with bee smokers,” Anders added. “Way to save the world. Bee smokers.”  
“Will you stop about the bee smokers? We will think of something,” Mitchell said firmly. “There has to be a way and we will find it.”

They left Olaf in his ascended state in the care of Ingrid and headed back to Auckland and Anders’ apartment.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Mitchell asked at the airport.  
“I’m not Van Helsing to run around attacking vampires,” Anders replied. “But if you’re ever in the area again, drop by and we can have a drink.”

Mitchell stepped towards him with a smile. “I see what happens,” he said and leaned closer. “Once we’re in Bristol and have had some time to think, we’ll come up with something that makes sense. And maybe we can pick up the conversation again.”  
“What conversation?” Anders asked, and had to look upward due to Mitchell towering over him. “And stop that, I don’t like being reminded I’m shorter than you.”  
“That remains to be seen,” Mitchell said with a wink. “I was referring to the motel.”

Before Anders could say anything they heard the last boarding call for their flight. 

Anders was left staring at the gate with tight lips. 

“Fucking cocktease,” he muttered.

* * *

Mitchell, Annie and George were able to gather a few helpers in their first assault on the vampire community in Bristol, and could also recruit a few former vampires who had never asked for it and were fed up with being undead and bloodthirsty.

It took Herrick too long, in his hubris, to realise what was happening around him. And in the end, he also realised too late what Mitchell had done to him. He stopped laughing at the bee smoker when Mitchell attacked him, and Herrick was the last person that Mitchell would ever kill. 

Some of the former vampires who had hated what they had become accepted pieces of the stone. Because no matter how much Mitchell scraped off, it never changed size nor shape. 

He had bought a cheap, ugly locket in a fashion jewellery store and kept it with him at all times, around his neck and tucked away under his shirt. 

It wasn’t in the news, and no one would ever know how the world had been saved – not with guns, battles, blood and tears... but with bee smokers.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Anders had never been able to get Mitchell out of his head, not only because of his booty but also because of his smile. Sometimes, when he thought back, his fingers itched to bury themselves into those crazy curls. And grope that booty like no tomorrow. 

He filed that under wishful thinking and wistful memories. 

Until the day he came home to see someone tall, dark and handsome sitting on the steps towards the apartment building. 

“Hey,” Mitchell said as he got up. “How about that drink?”

It took Anders a moment to rally himself. “I got vodka in the fridge and I make a mean Martini.”  
“Never had one of those,” Mitchell said with a smile.  
Anders shook his head. “We should do something about that.”  
“We should,” Mitchell said with a smile.

Once he had dropped his bag Anders mixed two Martinis, but as Mitchell reached out for the glass Anders shook his head.

“Off with those fuck-ugly green gloves,” he said. “Those won’t be touching anything in this place.”  
Mitchell took them off with a grin. “Better?”  
“Better.” Anders handed him the glass. “You are allowed to touch now.”

Mitchell accepted the glass with a smirk and Anders lifted his eyebrows with a smirk of his own as he lifted his glass. 

They didn’t have another drink before the touching got a little out of hand, and not long after, Mitchell took more off than only his gloves.


End file.
